


Pirate

by Ice_Cube44



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Just Add Kittens, Kittens, Light Angst, Mostly fluff though, Prompt Fic, spoilers 5x20
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6744502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Cube44/pseuds/Ice_Cube44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on gusenitsa's tumblr prompt. Emma has just returned without Killian for good. So when Henry finds a kitten on their...her front porch, she's adamant that they aren't going to keep it. But the little pirate has other ideas...and when Killian does find his way back to her, he doesn't know what to think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> Based on gusenitsa's tumblr prompt. This is my first real attempt to prove that I can, indeed, write fluff...

Emma was sure that the only reason she made it from the loft to their…her house that evening was because Henry knew where they were going.  She was following him blindly, trusting him to pay attention to their surroundings while she just tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  She had been that way since stumbling through the portal – not capable of higher functions than “follow me” or “sit here”.  “Eat this.”  Killian was gone; she had left him behind in the Underworld after everything that happened.  If she thought too much about that she was either going to hunt Hades down and punch that smug smile off of his face or she was going to break down completely and utterly.  Killian was her rock.  He was the immovable object that she took shelter within as the storm that was her life battered her about.  And now, he was…

“So?  Can we keep him?”  Henry’s hopeful voice cut through the tears that were about to fall unheeded down her cheeks.  Emma hadn’t even thought that she was capable of more tears.

“Wh…What?”  Her brain fast forwarded to try and catch up to her son.

“Can we keep him?  I’ll take care of him and get him a litter box and food and everything.  I think he’d be good for you.”

‘Him’ was quite possibly the smallest and most pathetic looking excuse for a cat that she’d ever seen.  A stray thought flitted through her mind that he wasn’t even big enough to _be_ a cat yet.  The kitten was approximately the size of a large mouse.   _Maybe it’s Mickey Mouse come to wreak havoc on town_ , Emma thought distractedly.  It certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s had to deal with lately.  On closer inspection, she thought the creature might be black, though that was debatable based on the sheer amount of mud that matted his fur.  He was bedraggled and mewling pitifully at the top of his little lungs.  Apparently, he had been taking shelter from the rain on their…her front porch and by some miracle didn’t take off the second he saw Henry reaching for him.  Henry had plucked him up and was currently trying to sequester him in the pocket of his coat, much to the cat’s delight as he sought the warmth of the thick wool.

Emma shook her head.  Here she was, still standing in the pouring rain, unable to even process the need to move to the relatively dry porch, and Henry thought she could take care of another living thing?  Didn’t he know that _he_ should be running far away from… ** _no_** , she had promised Killian she wouldn’t start thinking like that again.

But Killian was left behind and Emma was here and this tiny little excuse for a creature was far too dependent for her to take on.  Not now.

“Henry, no.  We can bring him inside tonight and see if we can’t get him to eat something, but I don’t know the first thing about cats.  We’ll take him to the shelter in the morning.  I’m sure someone will take him in.”  Emma was proud that her voice didn’t waver once.

Henry’s face fell.  “But, Mom…”

“I said _no_ , Henry.  Don’t get attached to him; he’s going away tomorrow.”  Steeling herself against the twin pouts that bored into her – and cats _don’t_ pout, she tried to tell herself – Emma finally moved to unlock the door to their…her home.

The stark difference between the interior of the house now and the bastardized version in the Underworld is almost enough to undo her again.  She watches disinterestedly as Henry squirrels the kitten away to the bathroom, possibly to try and give the animal a bath.  Something flits across her memory about cats not liking water, but the thought is gone as quickly as it came.  Her son is a teenager – surely he’s capable of looking after himself for a moment.

Emma sinks down onto the couch in their…her living room and just stares off into space.  She hears water running somewhere and Henry’s soft voice murmuring as the tiny sounds of protest from the kitten continue.  She’s not even sure the thing is really even meowing – he looks too small to even make the attempt.

What was a kitten that small doing alone on their…her… _her_ front porch in the first place?  Where was his mother?  Surely he wasn’t big enough to be by himself.  Didn’t kittens need to be weaned off their mothers?  How did one even go about doing that?

 _Not that it matters_ , Emma thought ruefully.  It was too late tonight to bring the kitten down to the shelter, but right after she got Henry to school in the morning, she’d make that trip.

But until then, they would need to find _something_ to feed the poor creature.  Henry had carried home a bag of supplies that Emma thought her mother had put together for her.  She hoped there was something in there that the kitten would be able to eat.

Emma stopped by the hall closet on her way towards the kitchen.  She sort of remembered stashing all manner of objects in the closet on one of the nights she had prowled the halls.  The kitten would need a place to sleep tonight – Emma thought she remembered an old afghan that had clashed with her fashion sense at the time.

The soft fabric was worn in places, but still in mostly one piece.  There were patches of red and green yarn checking the pattern.  It was perfect.

Emma backtracked to the couch, folding the blanket into a comfortable fluff of fabric before heading to the kitchen once more to try and find suitable kitten food.  She thought briefly about calling her father to ask, but she couldn’t handle the conversation that would bring about – it was going to be hard enough to let Henry down when she brought the kitten to the shelter in the morning; she didn’t need her father pouting at her, too.

One saucer of milk and one can of tuna fish later and Emma is satisfied that the creature won’t starve overnight.  She peeks in on Henry in the bathroom – not overly surprised to find that he’s nearly as soaked as the kitten.  The mud is mostly gone, however, and Emma can see that the kitten was, as she thought, mostly black.  There is a bright white patch on his muzzle, and his left paw is white to match.  The tail that is flicking back and forth is scraggly at best, but it’s the eyes that stop Emma dead in her tracks.

She had thought once that Killian had the bluest eyes she had ever seen – a depth to them that spoke of clear summer days and the vast ocean that had always calmed them both.  But this kitten?  His eyes could have given her pirate a run for his money.

They’re staring at her now, a sad little ‘mew’ escaping the kitten’s mouth as he regards her, and Emma finds that she just _can’t_.  She can’t deal with this kitten or the memories he’s dragging up.  She can’t deal with Henry’s sympathetic gaze as he looks up from where he’s unfolding a towel to dry off the kitten’s damp fur.

“There’s some food that I think he might eat, and there’s a blanket on the couch for him to sleep on.  I’m going upstairs to take a shower and then I’m going to bed.”  Emma’s voice is shaking violently and she’s not sure how long she’ll be able to hold up the tissue-paper thin façade that says she’s okay at the moment.  She needs to get away from her son before she breaks down.

Henry seems to sense this, nodding silently as he fully envelops the kitten in terrycloth.  “I think I’ll call you…”

“Henry!  No!”  Emma whirls back around, snapping more sharply than she intended.  “You will _not_ name this cat.  We are _not_ keeping him.”

Henry looks startled and Emma thinks she sees the first hint of tears checking at the corners of his eyes.  She retreats as quickly as she can to the sanctity of upstairs, not thinking about anything other than cleaning the stench of the Underworld off of her and then crawling into the bed that she was supposed to share with Killian.

* * *

It’s only after she’s stepped out of the shower that Emma recalls Henry’s tears and remembers that she’s not the only one who lost Killian today.  She _can’t_ keep the kitten, but maybe she can convince Regina and Robin to take the animal – surely an outdoorsman like Robin could handle a kitten and Roland would love him.

She thinks that maybe Henry was trying to take in the kitten to fill in the hole in his heart a little bit and that’s why he’s gotten so attached so quickly.  Emma half expects to find the kitten sleeping in Henry’s room tonight.

The kitten is curled up on the red and green afghan at the foot of her bed.

Emma stares down the animal as he cocks his head to the side and wiggles his nose at her.  She _won’t_ smile.  She _won’t_.  He’s not cute, she’s not going to get attached to him.

Emma picks up the kitten, blanket and all, and places the bundle on the chaise under the window.  The kitten looks heartbroken – _no, Emma, he’s a_ cat _, he’s not heartbroken so stop projecting_ – but turns around a few times before settling in his new bed.  Emma does the same, curling into a tiny ball under the covers.

It’s then when it hits her.  This too-large bed was supposed to be for the two of them.  They were supposed to make happy memories and a future here – maybe even a future that Emma had never hoped for once she let baby Henry be taken from her hospital room without even looking at him.  Killian was supposed to be there to wrap his arms around her, to be there for her to burrow against to stave off the chill of the coming winter.  Instead, she wraps her arms around the pillow that should have been her pirate’s, pulling it tight against her chest and sobbing into the cotton.

She has no idea how long her tears continue to soak into the pillow, but it’s a good time later when she’s startled out of her sorrow by what sounds like a small motor in her ear.  She tries to lift her head to discover where the sound is coming from, but there is a warm weight pressed against the back of her neck and Emma knows now exactly what has happened.  Despite plunking the kitten across the room, he must have heard her and come in search of more warmth.  Emma rolls over carefully, intending to deposit the little ball of fluff back on _his_ bed.  But before she can move, the kitten paws his way up onto her chest and butts her chin with his head.  He sits back on his haunches and continues to purr as he kneads at the hair spread out over her collarbones.

Emma expects the sharp prick of pain from his claws, but they are safely retracted as the kitten continues his ministrations.

She stares at the little animal that, by all rights, should be terrified of a creature that is so much bigger than he is.  But it’s like he knows that she can’t give him any more than this right now, and he’s okay with that.

He’s waiting for her to accept him, and he won’t push for affection just yet.

More tears track down her cheeks as the kitten curls up on her chest, tucking his head under her chin and letting out a soft ‘mew’ and going back to purring.  His steady little breaths expand his chest to the point where the fur tickles Emma’s neck, and the feeling is so comforting that she feels something in her heart smooth over a little bit.

She falls asleep easily, no longer worried about how large the bed is or what the morning is going to bring.

But what she does know for certain is this – the morning won’t bring a trip to the animal shelter after all.

This kitten is never going to the shelter.  Not ever.

* * *

Emma wakes the next morning feeling like she went to bed with a scarf wrapped around her neck.  Her brain is still muddling through the fog of sleep as she tries to unwrap the wool and let the skin around her neck breathe.

She jolts into a sitting position when something wet and rough drags across the palm of her hand before she can latch onto the “scarf”.

Last night’s visitor comes back to mind a second after that and Emma glances apologetically at the kitten who has been unceremoniously dumped into the mess of blankets pooling around her legs.  His little blue eyes are blown wide and his claws are clamped down on the fabric as he tries to keep his legs under him.  The creature wobbles a bit before letting out an indignant sound and bounding off the side of the bed.

Emma almost throws _herself_ off the mattress trying to make sure the kitten is fine, but he doesn’t give her a second glance as he takes off like a shot towards the door.

Where he sits and scratches at the wood while mewing plaintively until Emma gets the message that he expects her to open the door right that instant.

When she finally makes her way down to the kitchen, dressed for the day and somewhat ready to face the world, Henry is sitting patiently at the table with his backpack at his feet and a flipbook with what looks like charts and pie graphs just waiting for her.

Emma doesn’t think there’s enough coffee in the world for this.

He starts before she can tell him that she’s changed her mind and the kitten can stay.

“Mom, look, you have to listen to me, all right?  I know that you said we can’t keep him and I know you think that he’ll be picked up by some other family at the shelter, but he’s so small that no one will want him.  They’ll want some big, fluffy kitten to take home.  And what if the other cats are mean to him?  He’s only tiny, after all.  What if he’s in his cage at the shelter and he sees all these families coming by and they keep picking out the other cats but not him?  How’s he going to feel when he’s so cute and cuddly but no one wants him?”

Emma is about to burst into tears again.  Henry couldn’t know exactly how close he was hitting home with his words, but she remembered each and every time she watched another foster child get to go home with their “forever family”.  The burn of her eyes and the thickness in her throat go unnoticed as Henry pushes himself back from the table and drops the flipbook – which _is_ filled with objective ‘evidence’ for why the kitten should stay with her – onto her placemat.

“Here, look at all of this and you’ll see that we _have_ to keep him.  It’ll be good for yo…for me to have a pet.  Besides, all kids should have animals – it helps us grow up right.”  He places a hasty kiss on the side of her head before grabbing his backpack and sprinting for the door.

He doesn’t wait for her to tell him that they could keep the kitten, just shouting out “I’ll stop by the shelter and get some supplies after school.  Thanks, Mom!” before the door slams shut behind him.

Emma stares, unblinkingly, at the bright colors that he must have spent hours crafting after she cried herself to sleep the night before.

She loves her son just a little bit more every day.

But his words still hurt.  How many times had young Emma Swan hoped for a family to take her and understand her?  To love her and give her the home that she so desperately wanted?  Last night wasn’t the first time she had cried herself to sleep, and without Killian there to save her – she is certain that it won’t be the last.

The tears are just about to start again when the kitten jumps up on the table and nudges his head under her hand.  He keeps sliding his skull under her fingers until she gets the idea that he wants her to pet him.  Emma lifts him up and holds him up so they’re nose to nose.

She is staring into his eyes and he is staring into hers, and something about the blueness there settles her even further.

“Well, Cat.  We’re just going to have to come up with a name for you, aren’t we?”  The kitten shakes his little head at her as if trying to say that he’s been waiting for her to catch up.

But then he gives the tiniest little sneeze Emma has ever heard and she can’t help it.  She bursts into laughter and finds that she can’t stop until tears are streaming down her face for a completely different reason than they were ready to.

“I’m not calling you Sneezy.  We already have one of those around town.”  Emma leaves the kitten on the table.  If she’s going to get anything done with her day – least of all figuring out a suitable name for the creature currently trying to reach over the side of Henry’s discarded cereal bowl – she needs breakfast.

And coffee.

Emma is just taking a sip out of her oversized coffee mug when the kitten manages to balance himself on Henry’s spoon and lean over the side of the bowl.  He is trying to lap out the leftover milk when his paws lose their traction and he ends up sitting in the dish instead, looking for all the world like he has no idea how he’s gotten there.

Emma burns her throat trying to swallow the hot caffeine before she sprays it all over the kitchen.

It takes her a few minutes to set the kitten up with a saucer of milk, his fur fluffed by the kitchen towel she used to mop him up.

“We can’t call you Grace either, Buddy.  You’re a boy and we have a Grace in town, too.  Try again.”  She smirks as he huffs out of his nose and doesn’t think too much on the fact that she’s having a serious conversation with a cat.

Said kitten looks perfectly content to remain nameless as long as she keeps plying him with milk, so she turns back to the frying pan full of eggs and concentrates on her own breakfast.  She plates up the eggs and reaches for the newspaper that Henry left for her, settling in on the other side of the table from him without much thought.

Emma is distractedly shoveling eggs into her mouth as she flips through the pages of the _Storybrooke Mirror_.  She’s not really paying attention to much else, wrapped up in the gossip section and wondering how such a small town can have so many stories in this section.  Then again, she thinks as she spears some more of the eggs on her plate, it _is_ a small town.

Emma doesn’t think about much else until her teeth crunch down on hard metal instead of fluffy egg.  It startles her out of her dazed state and she drops the fork, reaching up to check that she didn’t do any actual damage.  Her plate is still half-full of her breakfast, so she’s not sure entirely what happened.  She chalks it up to a careless mistake and takes care to spear another clump before her phone chimes with a message from her mother asking if she needs anything.

She is just about to set her fork down to type out an answer when she figures out where the first missing bite of eggs went.

The kitten darts forward from where he was hiding behind the newspaper and snatches the bit of egg off the tines of her fork, swallowing it down quickly and smacking his lips at the taste.

Emma just stares as he looks right at her and then darts back behind the paper.

“Why you little pirate!  You can’t steal my…”  Emma trails off.  “Pirate.  You’re a pirate.”

The kitten pokes his head out from behind the gossip section, cocking his head to the side.  Seemingly unperturbed by her, he sits down and licks the white of his left paw before starting to groom his whiskers.

Emma nods.  “I guess you found your name, didn’t you, Pirate?”

* * *

Pirate follows her around constantly, and Henry doesn’t even try to pretend that the kitten is his.  There are still moments when Emma is hit by the loss of her human pirate, but the feline one is always there looking to be scratched behind the ears or butting his head into her chin until she can’t help smiling at him.  She gives up on making the afghan his bed at night, moving the blanket to the end of the couch in her living room and decreeing that that is _his_ spot.

For such a small thing, Pirate can take up more room than she and Henry combined if the blanket isn’t there to corral him.

She finds it easier to get through the next few days, fighting with Zelena and Hades but not letting it break her when she’s fighting their True Love without _hers_ at her side.  She’s a little bit soured on the idea that this is the rarest magic of all if even these villains can find and keep it when she only had minutes with hers confirmed before she had to let him go.

It’s in no small part thanks to Pirate that she makes it through the nights – she’s not alone when the little body is curled on her chest or behind her neck or around her head.  She repays him with a ridiculously large Amazon Cat Tree Mansion, quietly laughing at just how pirate-like it looks while Pirate, himself, can’t quite decide if he’s affronted by it or in love with it.

Some well-placed catnip makes the decision for him and Emma vows never to use the stuff again.

* * *

And then, Killian returns.  Emma is shocked and amazed and thankful and so many other emotions that she can’t even begin to describe them all.  She has him back and no one else better even think about trying to separate them ever again.

She’ll destroy them before they even get close to stealing him from her again.

* * *

It’s later, after everything that’s happened, that she finally can drag Killian away from the bustle of town and squirrel him away into her…their home.  She barely lets him make it past the front door when she’s dragging his arms around her, nestling into the crook of his neck and just – breathing.  The scent of him calms her in a way that nothing else could and she just revels in the moment.

That is, until her human pirate makes something of a startled squawk.  She jolts back abruptly, looking around for an intruder, only to double over in laughter.  Emma hadn’t even noticed their little stalker until he had sunk his claws into Killian’s pant leg, trying to climb the new human in search of snacks.  She knew from experience that those claws were sharp.

“What, pray tell, is this beast doing in our home, luv?  Did I find us an abode with a pest problem?”  Killian looks like he is torn between removing the animal from his thigh and not letting her out of his arms – their forced separation had been equally hard to bear.

Emma solves the problem for him, plucking the kitten from his new scratching post and cuddling him between their chests.

“This is Pirate.”  She scratches a finger between the cat’s ears, smiling softly at the resulting purring.

“P…P…P…Pirate?”  Killian splutters out, sounding equally affronted and perplexed.  “Swan.  This…animal isn’t the least bit like a pirate.  He’s…he’s…I’m not sure what he is.  You _can’t_ call him Pirate!”

“He’s a kitten, Killian.  You’ll like him.”  Emma pulls away from his embrace, grasping his hook and leading them to their couch.  She sinks down onto the soft cushions and allows Pirate to scamper over to his blanket.

Killian heeds her pull, sinking gingerly down onto their couch and arranging them so Emma can curl into his chest.  He had had plans that involved the bedroom and far fewer items of clothing than they’re currently wearing, but he would have to be blind not to see the dark circles under Emma’s eyes.  They have time now, all the time in the world – and he won’t squander a minute of it.

The kitten curls in a ball after pawing at the red and green fabric – an afghan he doesn’t remember seeing the last time they were in this house.  And then he remembers that the last time he was inside these walls, the sky outside was tinged red and he shuts that line of thinking down swiftly.

“He’s harmless, Killian.  I promise.”  Emma is smiling up at him with a sparkle in her eyes and he just knows she’s trying not to laugh at him.

“It’s not that, luv.  It just he’s so…mangy.  And he’s probably flea-infested.”  He has a look of disgust on his face as the kitten starts licking under his back paw.

Emma huffs at him and smacks his chest.  “He is _not_ flea-infested.  Pirate is cleaner than some of your men were – Smee was a _rat_.  And besides,” she tugged on the curls behind his ear.  “You’re not exactly military issue at the moment, either, Buddy.”

Killian growls at the slight pain, still eyeing the animal near Emma’s feet with a baleful look.  When his True Love redirects his gaze to her, there is a pout on her lips that he longs to kiss away.  Gods, he would do anything for this woman.

“Do you really not like him?”  Emma’s lower lip quivers and he’s a goner.

He sighs.  “I’m not exactly a cat person, luv.  We had them on the ship to work, but they weren’t pets.  But if he makes you happy…”

Emma grins, tucking her head under his chin and letting loose a yawn.  She waves her hand and the quilt from the _Jolly_ drapes itself over her shoulders.  The kitten doesn’t even bat an eye, instead losing its balance as it tries to groom itself.  Emma’s eyes are already closing and it’s only minutes later that he feels the soft puffs of air sneaking in under the open v of his shirt that signify her easy sleep.

Emma had made her promises to him in the Underworld – sleeping for weeks now that they were home seemed to be the easiest one to keep.

Killian couldn’t have said how long he watched her sleep, her fingers spasmodically gripping the fabric of his shirt at random intervals, trying to reassure herself that he was there, even in her dreams.  It brought a soft smile to his own features, the last few fractures of his heart healing with her calm acceptance of his return.

Killian gently soothed his fingers up and down Emma’s spine, calming them both with the gesture and losing himself in the hypnotic moment.  It was an eternity later when the glint of something caught his eye.  Turning his head sharply to find what had startled him and prevent whatever it was from waking Emma, he was shocked to find the cat wiggling its way backwards down his leg until it was perched on the shin of his boot, his foot resting on the ottoman in front of the couch.  Between its teeth was the piece of eight that Killian had carried on his person since their adventure on the Beanstalk.  He hadn’t even felt the little creature pick his pocket.

As if sensing Killian’s eyes on him, the cat looked up from its task, slowly laid the gold down at its paws and then laid itself down to settle in on Killian’s leg.  It cocked its head to the side as if measuring him up.  Killian raised an eyebrow at the action and did the same.

He must never tell Emma that he was in a staring contest with her kitten.

After a moment, the cat must have weighed him and found him acceptable, because it…he used his paw to draw the gold piece further towards him.  He made a sound that Killian thought was an attempt at a meow but came out more of a “mew”, and tucked the gold under his chest.

Killian grinned.  Maybe the kitten would be all right after all.  “Pirate, indeed.”


	2. Outtake One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because this didn’t fit into my “one-shot” and I can’t write a whole ‘nother chapter for this until some of my other WIP’s are done… @gusenitsaa here’s another one for the eventual master post…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving this marked complete, but Pirate the Kitten is too cute to put on the shelf completely...

There are some days when Emma wishes that all of the fairy tale characters in her life could just take a break from all the fighting and drama for _one day_ so she could take a _minute_ to breathe.  She stomps in the door of their… ** _their_** home and can’t keep the scowl on her face as she sees the coat hooks that Killian had picked out last month – silhouettes of cats with their tails out as the hooks.  He will never admit to it, but Pirate has grown on him.

Speaking of her favorite feline, usually he’s right at the door to greet her when she comes home. He’s bigger now, almost the size of a _real_ kitten, but he still climbs her pant leg like he’s a mouse.  She frowns at his absence.

Walking through their house, she keeps an eye out for black slinking though the rooms she passes. But she needn’t have worried.

She finds _both_ her pirates sitting in the kitchen, locked in an intense staring contest. They are nose to nose, and Emma thinks that having that much blue staring at each other should cause some sort of displacement of the universe or something.  She wouldn’t put it past the magic of this town.

And then she hears Killian.

“Me-OW, Cat. Me-OW.  It’s not that hard to sound like an actual approximation of your species, you know.  Me-OW.”

Emma brings her fist to her mouth, biting down hard on the knuckle to stifle any sound from escaping. She is _never_ going to let Killian live this down.

“Mew.”

Her human pirate’s forehead clunks down on the table with an audible sound.

Emma bursts out in laughter so hard her knees buckle and tears stream down her cheeks. 

It’s as if Pirate knows exactly what he’s doing when he butts his head against the top of Killian’s. Clearly he’s won yet another of their arguments.


	3. Pirate's Baloney

Henry has a baloney sandwich. Where he’s gotten it from, Emma isn’t entirely sure because she hasn’t been a fan of the meat since it was her only option in some of her homes. But it’s on his plate anyway and her son is scarfing it down like it’s ambrosia. The familiar turn of phrase doesn’t sting like she thought it would. Not anymore.  
She’s distracted by the sun shining across the table, marveling at it for a second. She takes these moments now, where she just appreciates everything that she has around her.  
And then she notices Pirate.  
He’s been napping on a particularly sunny spot on the floor, slowly inching himself across the tile as the sun moves. She grins at the tiny creature, still thankful for whatever stroke of luck brought him to their door.  
His nose is twitching in his sleep.  
And then he’s wide awake and bounding up onto the table to sit at Henry’s hand.  
The kitten moves so fast that Emma isn’t entirely sure there wasn’t any magic involved.  
Henry barely notices, writing in the book and doing his best to inhale the lunchmeat and bread. But Emma watches closely; Pirate is a notorious food thief. It’s how he got his name, after all.  
And sure enough, the little scoundrel starts nosing the bread away, taking off like a shot with a slice of baloney dragging behind him like a flag.  
The meat is gone before Henry can even voice his protest.  
And that’s the start of it. Emma picks up a pound of the lunchmeat from the deli every Monday on her way home from work. Between her growing son and the things she can get Pirate to do for little bits of the meat, she can barely keep up.  
It’s Henry that teaches Pirate that jumping from the floor onto the counter in one leap will get him a piece of his favorite new treat. It’s Emma who discovers that her kitten will climb his way on top of the refrigerator and won’t come down until baloney shows up in his bowl. It’s David who figures out how to get Pirate to spin in mid-leap, catching the thrown piece of meat in his mouth on the way down.  
Somehow, Killian is oblivious.  
She knows he likes Pirate - no matter how much he protests otherwise. He still refuses to call the kitten anything but “Cat”, but she’s wearing him down. She’s seen him with Pirate, absently stroking the soft black fur as he reads or allowing the kitten to rest on his shoulder as he searches the horizon with the telescope in their home.  
Emma is pretty sure they’re becoming fast friends.  
David has been spending more time at their home, acclimating Neal to the idea of a cat in hopes he can convince Mary Margaret that he...or rather his son needs a pet. He’s showing the baby Pirate’s new trick, and casually mentions that she’s running low on baloney.  
It’s Wednesday.  
Killian is down by the docks when she texts him a list of things to pick up from the grocery store on his way home. She doesn’t think twice about it and goes back to reading, absently listening to Pirate’s plaintive cries when David doesn’t provide the next piece of baloney quickly enough.  
It crosses her mind briefly that her cat is a bit spoiled.  
She doesn’t think much of her request until Killian comes in the door, laden down with bags and such a hangdog expression that makes her wonder if the Jolly sank overnight. She drops the book without marking her page and hurries after him into the kitchen.  
“Killian? What’s wrong?” Her heart is in her throat.  
He looks at her briefly before dropping his head, concentrating on placing each item in the fridge just right. Emma approaches slowly, unsure of what’s going on, and drops her hand lightly onto his back.  
“Killian?”  
He looks up at her, then, scratching behind his ear and searching her gaze. For what, Emma isn’t entirely sure.  
"Emma, luv, have I done something to offend you?" His tone is guarded, but apologetic.  
She’s confused. They had parted on amicable terms this morning, and even her text asking him to stop at the store wasn’t out of the ordinary. Where on earth had he gotten the idea she was upset with him?  
“Of course not. Where would you get an idea like that?” Killian had come back to her against all odds, there wasn’t much he could do at the moment that would upset her now.  
He held up the package of baloney from the deli. He didn’t say anything else, just moved his gaze from Pirate’s treat to her and back again.  
“I assumed this was to be my penance for whatever I’ve done. I thought the last time I would see this...food would have been that barbaric brig in New York.” He’s pouting now, and Emma can’t help it.  
She bursts out laughing.  
Killian looks shocked at her outburst, but then resigned to his fate. He rips the sticker with his hook and teases open the package. There is a minute tremor in his fingers as he pulls out a slice of baloney and stares at it. “Whatever it is, luv, I’m sorry.”  
She’s still staring at him, speechless, as he lifts the entire slice, tips back his head and dangles the meat above his mouth.  
“Killian.” She stops him, taking the meat from his hand and starting to tear it up into small pieces.  
“I’d rather just get it over with all at once, Swan.” He’s eyeing the growing pile of pink cold cut with something approaching horror.  
It’s at this point that Pirate abandons David and Neal, streaks into the kitchen, and leaps onto the counter. He’s sitting impatiently at Emma’s side, mewing desperately like he hasn’t been fed since before he found his way into their home and her heart.  
“The baloney is for Pirate. Not for you.” She’s grinning as Killian watches the kitten snatch thrown bits of meat, and his expression is one of shocked confusion.  
“You mean I just went out of my way to purchase that awful excuse for food simply for the pest control?” Killian’s voice is a bit high-pitched and an unlikely cross between unequivocally relieved and utterly offended.  
Emma smirks at him. “Keep calling him that and I might just change my mind about feeding it to you.”  
“Well, you could, I suppose. But I'm not entirely sure Zeus will send me back again if you do.”


	4. Pirate's Spot

He's finally convinced Emma to go to bed, hours after he's come back to Storybrooke, come back to her, come _home_ to her. She'd spent hours napping on his chest on the couch, her little kitten beast perched on his shin, but the crick in his neck has lit an unfortunate fire under his skin, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out in a bed.

With her.

Curled into his side.

Wrapped up safe in his arms.

So he can hold her, keep her, make sure she's there.

Make sure that this isn't a dream, or a hallucination, or a cruel trick.

The god of the Underworld may be destroyed, but he'd left scars that Emma's magic can't touch. Her physical touch, on the other hand, may eventually soothe even those wounds.

_Gods,_ he thinks, traipsing up the stairs after her, _by the gods he loves this woman._

The gods know this, he thinks. Hades, unfortunately, had been all too aware of his love for her. Zeus, he's sure, certainly knew. He wouldn't be here if not.

_It's time to take you where you belong._

He hadn't belonged in a graveyard, on a dreary day, save for the fact that _that_ is where Emma was when he'd returned. When Zeus had given her back to him.

He needs her. He needs her like the air he breathes, like the sea outside their window, like the warmth of the sun under a _blue_ , cloudless sky.

He needs to hold her close and just listen to her breathe.

So he showers quickly, letting the heat loosen sore muscles and ease the ache of bruises hiding just beneath the skin on his neck, before he pulls on a pair of sleeping pants Emma had garnered for him.

He sees her blonde hair first, spread out on a pillow and the only sign of her - his Swan is burrowed so completely under the blankets that he would have missed her completely if not for her hair. She is sound asleep, her soft snores just barely audible. He yawns in response.

Killian steps forward to join her, moving silently over the carpet to his side ( _his side! He has a side!)_ of the bed. He's already imagining how soft the blankets will be, how warm and comfortable he'll be in their bed. He can just watch her until he falls asleep, resting easily with his head on a squished pillow.

There is a _cat_ on his pillow.

He almost thinks that it's a different animal than the one that had clawed its way up his leg upon their return home. ( _Home. He has a home! He's part of_ someone's _home.)_ The cat that is sleeping on his pillow has the same coloring as Emma's kitten, but it's impossible to conceive that so small a beast could possibly take up _this_ much space. But the coloring is identical, and the tiny 'mew' that comes out of his mouth when he notices Killian is the same. This _is_ Pirate, just… magnified somehow.

Regardless, Pirate is _not_ sleeping on his pillow, in his bed, in the same room. Surely, Swan was so tired that she forgot to deposit the creature in the hall. He hates to wake her, so he reaches for the back of the cat's neck and lifts - much as he had for centuries on the deck of the _Jolly_ when one of the beasts erringly made its way into his quarters.

The yowl that comes from Pirate is magnified far more than his shape was, and Killian almost drops him in surprise that so loud a noise can come from something so small.

Emma wakes up with a jolt and sits straight up, her hands up to release her magic before she catches up to the scene.

"What are you doing?!" He's heard her use this tone of voice before - with Regina, with Zelena, with Cora. Not with him.

Not since the early days when his revenge consumed him and before he thought she might possibly be the source of his redemption.

She's still glaring at him, and Killian gently lowers the beast back to the bed, gingerly depositing the ball of fluff on the mattress and not breaking eye contact lest she perceive him as a threat to her kitten. Pirate scampers over to her, stumbling and almost falling over the folds in the blankets, and curls into her arms with a glare of its own.

_Cats don't glare, mate. Get it together._

"I didn't mean to wake you, luv. The cat found its way in here, and I only meant to take him ou-"

She interrupts him, matter-of-factly, stroking the animal's fur and cradling it protectively to her chest. "He sleeps here."

An eyebrow raises of its own volition. "Come again?"

Emma nods her head at the pillow next to hers. "That's his spot."

Killian blinks, a bit stupidly, for a moment. He's overtired, he's still reeling from the effects of oxygen deprivation from Hyde's temper. He must not have heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I confess I'm more tired than I'd like to admit. I thought you said that this pillow is the cat's sleeping berth," he said incredulously.

She turns the pest control loose and Pirate immediately makes himself at home on the pillow. On _his_ pillow.

Killian hasn't whined since he was a small child, centuries ago, secure in his mother's arms and pouting because Liam wouldn't let him be the ship's captain in their game.

He wants to whine now.

"What am I supposed to use as a pillow then?" He gestures to his side of the bed, wondering if he'd misread the situation. They are confirmed True Love, after all. He'd come back from the afterlife to her. She'd told him she loved him outside of Granny's. For no other reason than that she can. Falling into an alternate realm aside, she's barely let him out of her sight since he stepped off his own grave and been knocked backwards by her embrace, her kisses, her love. He'd thought…

Emma lies back down and runs her fingers enticingly over her own pillow.

"I figured we could share."


End file.
